


marble hands & pop rocks

by myvoidedeyes



Series: (we are) lost boys [7]
Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: AU, Afterlife, Angst, Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, Foreshadowing, Friends to Lovers, Groundhog Day, Happy Ending, Hemlock Grove - Freeform, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Metaphor, Purgatory, References to Previous Instalments, Romancek, Smoking, Swearing, THIS IS MY APOLOGY, The End, but in reverse, cause i'm a slut for metaphors, kind of, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 08:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16013741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myvoidedeyes/pseuds/myvoidedeyes
Summary: death is never what we expect





	marble hands & pop rocks

**Author's Note:**

> this is my apology fic for fucking everything up

The roof of the Godfrey mansion wasn’t made to be hospitable. It wasn’t really surprising that the two of them made themselves at home there anyway.

            Smoke curled through the air, casting a sickly perfume over the scene, untouched by the dead winds. He didn’t need it, didn’t really want it, but the way his fingers wrapped around the stick was familiar and balancing; not unlike the hand lain, as if having found its home, atop his thigh. And fuck, if he didn’t want it to stay there forever.

            Overhead, the clouds were a grey, writhing mass, their threat both heightened and juxtaposed by the relative calm and still trees that were farther away than he could possibly touch. He could smell the storm as well as he could see it—that charged moisture clinging to every molecule of the air—and there was a primitive need to face it, fight it, as if the sky itself would ever bow low enough to so much as acknowledge him.

            Flicking the cigarette over the edge of the eaves trough, he watched as it tumbled to the oblivion below, before turning his head to his companion, baring his teeth in a grin. Those eyes, deceptively innocent in their width, traced every detail of his face, trying to swallow every inch of happiness.

            He knew what would happen next–was intimately acquainted with the lips that would bruise and swell as they fist fought for the chemical prize that they’d both receive, regardless. Knew the way they’d try to swallow one another’s teeth, steal every inch of flesh and muscle, as if they could turn into a mass of humanoid sludge and become one, horrible being.

            He’d lived this moment, again and again, as if trapped in some sort of sadistic purgatory, and he’d watched that sky, so different from the reality this memory grew from, where it had been blue, such a rare sight in a cursed town, and waited for the wrath it promised.

            It didn’t matter though—it _didn’t_ —he’d always think as he wormed his hands into that button-down shirt, unearthing the tails, which had henceforth been buried within the dark soil of trousers, and trace ribs barely hidden by skin that was all too cold for life. It he was going to have to _Groundhog Day_ any one of his memories, this certainly wasn’t the worst. He’d happily take the hell that followed in the moments in which this particular VHS was being rewound, just to feel that body under his hands, and those hands on his body.

            Sure, it was effectively a dream, unable to escape the confines of his head, to ever touch reality: as ineffectual as spitting on a house fire.

            He’d happily burn if he were allowed this repose.


End file.
